Apo
Newbie
Worst. Birthday. Ever.
Dr. No'no Sundowner hasn't had many birthdays, but they know enough to realize that seeing somewhere near TEN dragons, fighting an undead Griffin, countless undead and a dryad-lich and then abandoning an unstable shard probably isn't the present many folks are asking for.
They take only a quiet moment for theirself, standing on the grasslands that had been their temporary home. Things were supposed to be better here, but the chaos and heartache only seemed to have followed them from home. They breathe a small sigh of sadness, looking at the tavern and the land like they're trying to memorize it. Despite their best efforts, it's likely the last time they'll see the place that should have been their second home. Perhaps for the best, all things considered. They'll pay for their necessary transgression, no doubt, but not yet. Not yet.
"Vel... Goodbye zenn. Take care of zis place." They say, shaking a fist at the sky. At whatever fates or weavers are listening. As if an afterthought, they take a bit of flint from their bag and light a twig on fire, frowning as they softly sing the birthday song. Alone and afraid, they wipe a bit of dew from their eyes.
With that final task done, they adjust their bag, square their shoulders, and set off into the unknown.
Dr. No'no Sundowner hasn't had many birthdays, but they know enough to realize that seeing somewhere near TEN dragons, fighting an undead Griffin, countless undead and a dryad-lich and then abandoning an unstable shard probably isn't the present many folks are asking for.
They take only a quiet moment for theirself, standing on the grasslands that had been their temporary home. Things were supposed to be better here, but the chaos and heartache only seemed to have followed them from home. They breathe a small sigh of sadness, looking at the tavern and the land like they're trying to memorize it. Despite their best efforts, it's likely the last time they'll see the place that should have been their second home. Perhaps for the best, all things considered. They'll pay for their necessary transgression, no doubt, but not yet. Not yet.
"Vel... Goodbye zenn. Take care of zis place." They say, shaking a fist at the sky. At whatever fates or weavers are listening. As if an afterthought, they take a bit of flint from their bag and light a twig on fire, frowning as they softly sing the birthday song. Alone and afraid, they wipe a bit of dew from their eyes.
With that final task done, they adjust their bag, square their shoulders, and set off into the unknown.
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